


Angst on a Shoestring: Here Comes the Rain Again

by scullyslash_archivist



Category: The X-Files
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2000-04-13
Updated: 2000-04-13
Packaged: 2018-11-20 04:02:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,563
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11328207
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scullyslash_archivist/pseuds/scullyslash_archivist
Summary: Scully has only her thoughts, and the sound of the rain, to keep her company.





	Angst on a Shoestring: Here Comes the Rain Again

**Author's Note:**

> Note from alice ttlg, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [ScullySlash](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Scully_Slash_Archive), which moved to the AO3 to ensure the stories are always available and so that authors may have complete control of their own works.. To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in June 2017. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [ScullySlash's collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/scullyslash/profile).

 

Angst on a Shoestring: Here Comes the Rain Again by Susan P.

Title: Angst on a Shoestring: Here Comes the Rain Again [1/1]  
Author: Susan P.  
Rating: G-PG  
Codes: ScullySlash, Sc/Ginger, angst (of course)  
Disclaimer: Dana Scully belongs to Chris Carter, 1013, Fox, & whoever else. Ginger & this particular story are mine. No copyright infringement is intended & no profit will come to me for this little fic.  
Summary: Scully has only her thoughts, and the sound of the rain, to keep her company.  
Notes: It was a dark and stormy night...when I started this little piece. <g> But that was months ago. I just came across this little snippet again last week. And, since it's raining here again tonight, I thought I'd try to finish it. Timeline-wise, this could fit almost anywhere, but probably best fits on the 'unresolved sexual tension' (and I *do* plan to resolve it, eventually) end of Scully & Ginger's relationship spectrum. Maybe the best fit would be between parts 1 & 2, or between the still-in-the-planning-stages parts 3 & 4, or possibly somewhere between the events of "Comfort, No Joy" and the journal entry of part 1. Take your pick.  
Feedback would be appreciated, either on-list or at:. Like the other installments, this wasn't beta'd, so if you catch any obvious mistakes, I'd appreciate your pointing them out.  
Permission to Archive: ScullySlash, Down in the Basement, all others please ask first. No one other than myself should post this to any mailing list or newsgroup without first obtaining my permission.

* * *

Angst on a Shoestring: Here Comes the Rain Again  
By Susan P.

It's raining here. A violent storm. I half-expect the power to go out any moment. The candles are already lit. And yet, I'm sitting here writing. Compelled to do so, I suppose. I would probably do it by candlelight alone, if it came to that.

Electrical storms always have such an odd effect on me--especially when I'm alone. I always feel so restless. Hungry. For something. For what, I'm never sure. The sense of physical need--the craving for another's touch--never helps, either. Your friend, Tom, would say I'm just horny. I wonder what you would say. But it's a subject I'm reluctant to bring up with you. It is not one I can discuss dispassionately--especially with you. And we both know how importantly *that* is to me. In any case, I know that it is more than the need for sexual release. I want so much more than that.

And yet, what I want seems like so little to ask for. Someone to share this night with. Someone to share my *self* with. No. Not just 'someone.' You. Just you. I no longer ask myself whether I'm obsessed. I've seen enough of obsession by now to know its shape and some of the many forms it takes. As obsessions go, mine is benign enough, I suppose--harmful to no one but me, really. And I'm willing to take my chances.

I almost picked up the phone half a dozen times before I finally did and dialed your number. I feel silly for needing to hear your voice, but I do need it. I can no longer count the number of times I've had the urge to just call you and say, not 'I need to talk,' but 'I need to hear your voice. Tell me about your day, tell me a story, tell me *anything*. Just *talk* to me.' I've never had the nerve to try it, but this need is implicit in so many of my calls to you. I wonder whether, if I did make such a call and ask you for this, you would understand the need and not question it--just automatically start describing your day, or some problem you're having at work, or some silly thing the cats have done. Your work is so focused on getting others to do the talking, I wonder if you would understand my need without question. I wonder whether, if you did question it, I would be able to explain. How can I expect you to know my heart if I barely know it myself?

It has nothing to do with the quality of your voice--not in itself. There's nothing remarkable about its pitch or timber, or in the rhythms in which you speak. It doesn't necessarily have much to do with *what* you say, either. Not that what you say doesn't' matter to me. It does--very much. But it doesn't seem to matter whether we're talking about something serious or trivial. Whether you're offering advice or asking for it. Whether you're being kind or just a little bit rude. Your voice is my connection to you. It...*anchors* me. In a way that little else does. You are my point of reference, whether or not you know it.

And, when I feel lost--as I so often do--I feel the need to talk to you, to hear your voice. You ground me, and somehow keep me from sinking--or floating away. I'm mixing metaphors, I know. But it fits, somehow. Earth, air, water, and even fire. There is something elemental in our connection, I think.

All I know is that, sitting here, listening to the rain and watching the occasional electrical charges light the sky, I want nothing more than to share this night with you. To crawl into your arms and let your presence, and your touch, soothe away my restlessness.

But I wonder if even you could. You're partly responsible for it, after all. I'm not even sure when or how it happened. It wasn't supposed to. I knew who I was, and I knew who you were. As many things as we do have in common, I never imagined I'd discover we had this particular thing in common. I had had the occasional fantasy about women, but it never seemed important enough to make me question myself. But the feelings I've developed for you have caused me to question everything I thought I knew about myself, about what I want. The only answer that keeps coming back to me is you.

If only I knew what to do about it. If I only knew what you wanted. As far as I know, I'm the only one that even senses this undercurrent between us. I may be the only source of it, but it doesn't keep me from feeling the weight of things unsaid when we're together. I know there's this subtext now when I say 'I love you,' when I touch you. I don't think I do or say anything differently with you than I ever did, but now there just seems to be...*more* behind it. It's becoming harder to know where one set of emotions ends and another begins--if it's even possible to separate them at all.

But how do I know whether it's the same for you? I don't know how to try to find out without risking what we do have. And I can't risk that. I need your friendship too much. You've never treated me as anything more than a friend, as close as we are. At least I don't think so. But how can I tell? I don't have any idea how this all works.

Dealing with men seemed...well, not easier, really, but the signals always seemed *clearer* somehow. Now I find myself on unfamiliar territory and I'm not sure where I should go, much less how I should get there. How did you and Carol ever manage it? How does anyone?

I don't have any answers.

The storm's quieter now. The sound of the rain against my window is soothing, and even the lightning seems harmless now. And I suppose I'm a little calmer, as well. Answers or no, it helps to write this all down, I think. I feel a little better than when I began this, at least.

I can't help but wonder how you spent this night, though. What does the sky look like outside your window? What are you thinking now? How do you feel?

But, it's late, and I should get some sleep.

Good night. I love you. Whether or not you realize how much. Whether or not I ever have the courage to tell you.

\----------------------

One final note: This wasn't meant to be a song-fic. I just stole the title of the Eurythmics song b/c it seemed appropriate. It didn't occur to me until later how appropriate the actual lyrics are to this piece. So, I thought I'd include them at the end here. No copyright infringement intended here, either.

Here Comes The Rain Again  
Lennox & Stewart

Here comes the rain again,  
falling on my head like a memory  
Falling on my head like a new emotion

I want to walk in the open wind,  
I want to talk like lovers do  
Want to dive into your ocean,  
is it raining with you?

So baby, talk to me, like lovers do  
walk with me, like lovers do  
Talk to me, like lovers do

Here comes the rain again,  
raining on my head like a tragedy  
Tearing me apart like a new emotion

I want to breathe in the open wind,  
I want to kiss like lovers do  
Want to dive into your ocean,  
is it raining with you?

[chorus]


End file.
